An orange smear bleeds over the weather radar and draws an ominous smear over Zealand north of Roskilde.
A storm is coming.
Rumors of this downpour have been circulating for days. Neighboring camps share news about the storm from mouth to mouth and speculate unfoundedly about it as old farmers.
It is not the first storm to hit Roskilde Festival, nor is it the worst. But it’s the first this year, and it marks a turning point. The darker skies interrupt our sun-scorched summer moods and send a stern reminder that we are just naked monkeys at the mercy of nature.
Around 7pm on Monday night, strong winds begin to tear down the festival area. Empty beer cans blow past like tumbleweeds, and pavilions on the bottom shelf are already threatening to buckle. When the billowing clouds on the horizon become too big and dark to ignore, Roskilde’s party-goer slips into the hectic, intoxicated theater, knocking down the hatches.
Beer in the stomach, straining on
When it comes to storm preparedness, there seem to be two types of people here. There are those who work hard to strengthen their camp, lower the pavilions a few notches, tighten the wires of the tents and roll out expensive raincoats.
Then there are those who face the storm with the courage of a dozen hot beers. Resigned to their fate, they do not bother impregnating. They turn up the volume, refill their drinks, and accept a frontal collision with Neptune’s anger.
At exactly 20 o’clock the first drops of rain begin to fall. What starts as a shower of extra, heavy drops quickly turns into a relentless downpour. One can not help but think that these sheets of rain are collapsing dreams across the festival site and condemning the ill-prepared for a week of wet sleeping bags and broken tents.
“The rain fills our pool again!”
Down in sector J83, most Silent & Clean campers have disappeared, hidden inside their tents. But a camp appears to be undisturbed by the storm. A dozen people are packed down under their white pavilion and jumping up and down in unison to some early 2000s Europop.
One of them, a taller guy with big ears, explains to me that their camp has come to Roskilde from Norway, Holland, Spain and Denmark. They have come too far and have planned too much to let this storm get in the way of things. He is asked to elaborate on his own waterproofing strategy and tells me: “Drink”.
Emma, ββfrom Bergen in Norway, is just outside this pavilion dancing in the rain. She faces the rain in a bucket hat and a bikini top.
“I have the best day of my life today,” she shouts. She points to a floppy inflatable children’s pool that acts as the camp’s beer cooler. “You have to look on the bright side – the rain fills our pool again!”
In misery we find camaraderie
Down in Silent & Clean, the large white shadow tent in front of the food trucks has come to resemble the Mercedes-Benz Superdome after Hurricane Katrina. Those whose tents have been washed away by this storm have come here for shelter.
Someone has their Soundbox on and has put Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ on. Soon the whole tent sings along to the chorus. Lightning tears across the sky, and a massive thunderclap overwhelms the music. This elicits applause from the singalong crew, as if the splitting skies are just pyrotechnics on Wrestlemania.
Measurement of the damage
A quarter past eight the horizon brightens. The rain is still falling, but it is clear that we are on the other side of the rain. The panic before the storm is gone. Now the only thing left is the dripping aftermath and the ecstasy of surviving.
Along the neat paths of Silent & Clean, the wake of the storm has left cheap pavilions turned and twisted. Their flimsy white polls are spreading in all directions, like the remains of a giant albino spider. In Roskilde’s resource cycle, these broken limbs will be tomorrow’s improvised flagpoles or toys in a new drinking game.
Framed by this dripping wreckage, a handful of 40-year-olds dance naked in the rain and sing along to The Weather Girls ‘It’s Raining Men’. One of these triumphant nudists, a man in his 40s with a thick beard and a respectable belly, tells me, “You can only get so wet when you’re naked.”
In Roskilde’s exuberant make-do spirit, he’s right.